On Her Mind
by Clio195
Summary: Procastination isn't always a bad thing. After leaving Maureen for the day to attend her estranged aunt's dog's funeral, Joanne finds this to be the case. MoJo fluff, T for extreme caution.


**A/N: Well, one day I just felt like writing MoJo fluff...and this is the result! Credit for the poem (and lots of it!) can go to i'llkissyourdocmartens. Huge thanks to her for pulling this piece out of a figurative rut. Hope you enjoy. :)**

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"I'm so sorry I can't go to your great aunt's funeral…for her Chihuahua, but I have a whole new show to write, and it's gonna take so long, and I'll be busy with this all day," Maureen told her girlfriend contritely-for about the fifth time that day.

"Yeah, yeah." Joanne rolled her eyes. "I guess I'll be paying my respects to the late Paco Longoria Jefferson _alone_."

"Aw, you know I wish I could come, baby," Maureen sighed dramatically-the eigth time- wrapping her arms around Joanne from behind.

"Oh, I know you are," Joanne humored her. "And to make it up to me, you're gonna cook me a huge, fantastic, elaborate dinner, right?"

"Sweetie," Maureen laughed, "you know I can't cook worth shit! There is something else I'm very good at though, and it's much better…" To prove her point, she kissed her neck seductively. She worked her way up Joanne's cheek and then back down to her collarbone. Joanne chuckled.

"That'll do, I guess…but it'll have to wait. Knowing Aunt Abigail, the after-funeral luncheon will be long and painful and filled with many long winded recounts of various events in Paco's life, so I shouldn't be back till late," Joanne groaned. "Ugh, I just know she'll be hanging onto one of his chew toys sobbing hysterically."

"Oh my God! You know what I just realized?" Maureen exclaimed. Joanne cringed away, Maureen's mouth being within a few inches of Joanne's ear. "Benny never invited us to Evita's funeral! That son of a bitch!"

"Maureen, I think it's understandable, seeing as it was Angel who _killed _the dog. Plus you filed like, seven noise complaints against it when you were living on the other side of town. _And _the time Collins snuck into their apartment, kidnapped Evita, and threw her in front of the dog catcher's truck. I think that was pretty much the last straw."

"Still, that was pretty rude of him. Oh, well…." Maureen dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. "Tell ole Aunt Abby I say hi!"

Joanne pecked her on the cheek and left the apartment.

Funny enough, Joanne's prediction was dead on. She was forced to look at pictures of Aunt Abigail and Paco- who, of course, was wearing a sombrero- in front of a Taco Bell, and listen to Aunt Abigail's dozens of stories telling about the 'adventures' they had undergone together.

'"I'll never forget the time little Paco and I went to the dog park over on 57th street. We lazed the summer day away. He made so many new friends, except this one poodle who I just didn't like the look of. I had to snatch him out of that situation before he got himself into something he should not be getting into. Oh, the good times we shared, Paco and me…"'

It was eleven o'clock before Joanne got back to hers and Maureen's apartment. She let herself in quietly, thinking that Maureen must've been tired from coming up with a new campaign. She dropped her keys on the counter, shrugged off her coat, and hung it up. Joanne was quite eager to crawl into bed and forget all about little yippy dogs and exotic hats belonging to said dogs. The sight of Maureen sprawled out on the couch, however, stopped her.

Joanne laughed to herself. A notebook was lying open on the ground, a pen still dangling from Maureen hand. She tiptoed over to the couch and picked it up.

"Let's see what we're going to be raging against now…" Joanne muttered to herself, flipping the pages.

Which were all blank. Joanne could hardly believe her eyes- but she could. It was _just _like Maureen to come up with some half baked excuse to get out of doing anything that would require thinking about anyone other than herself.

Joanne threw the book down on the coffee table and went to shake Maureen awake. She already had a semi-formed lecture in her mind, something along the lines of 'I can't believe you could be so selfish and not do this _one _thing for me so I was stranded at a dog funeral for hours'. Her hand was centimeters away from Maureen's shoulder when something caught her eye; the contrast of white paper and black ink. The last page of the notebook _did _actually have something written on it. Skeptically, expecting it to be some long ago forgotten shopping list, she scanned the page. Then she read it again. And again.

_My Joanne_

_She cares deeply about so many things; she has so much love and beauty  
to give the world, and not enough time to do it in.  
Break through the wall she's erected, and maybe  
you'll will have her trust forever.  
An exposed Joanne is a naked Joanne;  
naked with emotion.  
Being naked scares her; it always has.  
I remember our first night together; she was so reluctant,  
looking at me with a blush and a soft smile,  
but I traced every part of her body with my fingertips, and when I was done,_

_she remembered that she was beautiful._

_Though I do love her insecurities; I love those rare moments when  
she's just a little girl who wants to be held.  
I love the way she'll cuddle up close to me when she's in a deep sleep, and  
pull me closer to her,  
almost unconsciously.  
She's always loved to sleep with her fingers tangled  
in my hair; it soothes her when she has one leg  
pressed firmly against mine.  
I wake up late at night and watch her sometimes;_

_and the feeling inside is so strong..._

_She can be silly, but she'd rather be sweet.  
She gets up early and makes me breakfast, or she'll  
leave a note on the pillow in the morning, even though she's in the other room.  
She makes me feel like I'm special, and needed and_

_loved._

_She knows just the things to do to turn me on, or  
comfort me,  
and she knows just how to piss me off.  
When she walks into the room, she doesn't know it, but people are  
looking.  
They're always looking at her; there's something perfectly mysterious  
and graceful in the way she walks.  
Sometimes, when the light is just right, it's like  
she's the only one there._

_Or the only one who matters._

_Everything about her is hidden sensuality-  
her dancer's body, the way  
she tilts her head slightly in confusion.  
Let's not forget those long fingers;  
when those gorgeous, coffee hands are  
on me,_

_I feel as if I could do anything._

_Except tear my thoughts away from her_

Joanne was not much of crier, so if you confronted her in that moment, she almost definitely would have denied the existence of a tear in her eye. But she would have been lying.

Gently, slowly, Joanne placed the notebook back on the ground. Moving tenderly now, she placed a hand on Maureen's bare shoulder. She drew light, lazy circles with her fingertip until Maureen stirred. She blinked several times before coming around.

"Hey, sweetie," Joanne whispered. "How was your day?"

Yawning, Maureen said softly, "Okay. Glad you're home. Missed you." The sentence trailed off and Joanne noticed Maureen's eyelids fluttering, already close to sleep.

"Missed you too." With that, Joanne climbed over Maureen nimbly and fell into place behind her. There wasn't much space, but neither woman complained. Lying in Joanne's arms, Maureen promptly drifted off again. For a while, Joanne just watched the steady rise and fall of her shoulders in time to her breaths. Finally, though, she fell asleep, vowing to thank Maureen the next day.

In a way, though, she didn't have to.

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**A/N: The End. That's a terrible way to end a non-Disney story (not that my end was all that great, sorry about that) but I still wanted to say it. Hope you liked, and please review of course!**


End file.
